Title: "Career Shift" (segment of Origins of a Hero series)

Fandom: G.I. Joe - Duke

Characters: Duke, Colonel Hawk

Prompt: 003. Endings

Word Count: 2,253

Rating: PG-13, adult language

Author's Notes: None at this time. If I think of any, I'll let you know. Disclaimers, disclaimers, yadda-yadda-yadda.

Fort Benning, Columbus, Georgia
December, 1983

A light rain cascaded from the moisture-laden clouds above Fort Benning. Due to the milder temperatures in the west-central region of Georgia, winters weren't as bad as what people in the northern latitudes had suffered. The favorable climate allowed Fort Benning to be used as a training base for new soldiers all year round.

The compound of trainee barracks at the United States Army Airborne Center and School was still dark at 0430 hours. Pairs of soldiers in olive drab rain ponchos, manning the fire watch patrol, walked the paved roadways between the matched rows of cookie-cutter buildings under the soft white light of incandescent street lamps. At the very end of the compound, a single, large barracks stood with random lights in some of the windows illuminated.

This larger barracks, where the Airborne School's on-duty drill instructors were housed, also had a large meeting room for the non-commissioned officer cadre of the training units, and its lights were on, a beacon in the night. Silhouetted by the lights, a male figure paced back and forth between the row of windows that overlooked the trainee barracks.

The pacing man stopped and faced the assembly of drill instructors seated in the room, running a hand through his sandy blond hair, while the last arrivals to the early meeting found empty seats and doffed their distinctively shaped "Smokey Bear" hats and settled down.

"Good morning, Gentlemen," Master Sergeant Conrad Steven Hauser said, calling his staff meeting to order with a quiet intensity in his voice.

"Good morning, Master Sergeant!" the drill instructors responded in unison.

Unlike the rest of the assembly of Army drill instructors, who made a living from bellowing and browbeating, Hauser's calm but firm voice commanded respect with any tone. He, and the three senior company sergeants of the Airborne Training Battalion, were the only instructors in the group that had a long record of combat experience. So, when they spoke, everyone shut up and listened.

"Weather's looking shitty today, over the airfield," Hauser said, aiming a long pointer at the meeting room's chalkboard, which he had loaded with hand scrawled notes. "The zoomies aren't likely to fly any training jump sorties today. Not that I would encourage you to go dropping any of my trainees onto my ranges with waterlogged 'chutes and broken limbs. The ground simulators and two-hundred-fifty foot suspension towers will be okay unless you see lightning in the sky."

"What other activities can we trade for jump practice, Top?" one of the less-experienced instructors asked.

"Everything else is good, Sergeant Willis. You can take your 'legs' through PT and running the Currahee. Small arms pistol and rifle ranges, along with the hundred-meter grenade range, will stay open today unless conditions dictate otherwise. Make sure you stay on top of the range controllers for the safety of your men."

Hauser paused while the drill instructors jotted down notes for themselves from the chalkboard into their personal memo pads. Hauser had meticulously noted all the variations in the daily training syllabus on the board, and he was a stickler at making sure his instructors knew their unit activities inside and out.

In a large organization like the Parachute Training Battalion, where a small cadre of non-coms had to play nursemaid over several hundred jump trainees per rotation, safety and coordination were everything. The DIs only had a short time to complete their trainees' qualifications, before the Army took them back and sent them to war or their "home" units. It was Hauser's job to make sure the Battalion ran like a well-oiled machine.

"Today is the all-battalion run," Hauser continued. "So, after the usual 'trainee wakeup' I want the companies mustered in run formation on the parade field by 0515. We'll get everyone back to base for morning chow by 0615. If your trainees slack off, then they get to wait at the back of my chow line, as usual. I will be there to supervise the run from the front, but as soon as the evolution is complete and the Battalion is in chow, I have to report to the Training Brigade offices for some top brass bullshit. Master Sergeant Thomas from Alfa Company will be standing in for me while I am with the Brigade honchos. Any questions?"

"No, Master Sergeant!" the drill instructors chanted.

"All right. Get to it, you slouches. As they say at Fort Jackson: 'If it ain't rainin', then we ain't trainin'. Dismissed, gentlemen."

The drill instructors filed out of the meeting room, mumbling softly amongst each other, leaving Hauser standing at the windows as he gazed at the barracks complex. He seemed like he was mentally counting every individual trainee in their bed racks, making sure all of his people were accounted for.

***

The battalion run went off with the usual professionalism that Hauser's cadre of instructors exhibited under his leadership. With the majority of trainees settling in at the mess hall for morning chow, MSGT Hauser made his way to the headquarters building of the Fort Benning Infantry Training Brigade.

A number of the training battalion's officers were dressed up in their Class A uniforms, milling around in the headquarters' reception lobby. Few of them paid Hauser any mind when he walked into the building in a clean and pressed set of camouflage BDUs. One officer, the brigade's enlisted career advisor, caught sight of Hauser and strode over to meet the senior NCO.

"Master Sergeant Hauser! Hold on a minute!" the Personnel Division Major called across the lobby. Hauser stopped and looked around the crowd to find the owner of the voice.

"Good morning, Major Booth," Hauser said, snapping a salute to the major.

"I take it you've finally broken down, and come in to see me about signing up for OCS, right?"

"Nossir. I was ordered to report here. No details given."

"Well. I also noticed that you're a short timer. Should I expect to see your re-up papers signed and on my desk before your cadre buries you in a mud puddle somewhere between this office and the Currahee?"

"The Army has been my life for many years, Major," Hauser replied. "I don't feel like changing careers now."

The major sighed a moment and touched his brow as if to wipe away a bead of sweat. "Good, Master Sergeant. And here, I thought I'd get a chance to use the new sales pitch about re-upping bonuses and such on you."

"If I was in this for the money, I would become an officer," Hauser stated, "with all due respect, sir."

The voice of the brigade's civilian receptionist drew Hauser from his conversation with the personnel officer. "Master Sergeant Hauser! Is Master Sergeant Hauser in the lobby, please?"

Hauser turned on his heel, but not before snapping a quick salute to the major. "I have to go, sir," he said.

The major acknowledged the salute and nodded. "See that your paperwork gets signed, okay?"

***

The receptionist led MSGT Hauser through the halls of the brigade headquarters until she found an unmarked office door. Knocking once, she turned the knob and urged Hauser to go in and report.

The sight that greeted Hauser was a youngish officer, sitting behind the guest office's desk, with papers and 201 files scattered before him. Sitting at the desk in neatly starched Class A's, with the green jacket hanging from a coat hook against one wall, the young Colonel wore close-cropped blond hair and had square-jawed features not unlike his own.

Hauser cleared his throat, straightening his posture to stand at attention before the colonel. "Ahem. Sir. Master Sergeant Hauser reporting as ordered, sir." When the colonel's eyes rose from the piece of paper he was studying, Hauser snapped a salute, touching his eyebrow and holding his hand in place.

Colonel Clayton Abernathy rose respectfully from the desk and returned the salute, standing briefly at attention before gesturing to an empty chair for the sergeant. They shook hands before taking chairs and facing one another.

"Master Sergeant Hauser," the colonel began. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Colonel Clayton Abernathy."

"Good to meet you too, sir."

Abernathy shuffled through a stack of 201 dossiers until he found one that he wanted and opened it in front of him. "Here we are, Sergeant. I see you've had quite a career."

Hauser stifled a tickle in his nose with a muffled sniff. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir."

"You served in the Republic of Vietnam from 1970 to '72, in the Special Forces. Roadrunner recon teams. CIA Operation Phoenix. You even busted an Aussie officer who was selling out American units to the enemy. You helped start the CONUS Recondo school at Fort Hunter-Liggett and also trained scout-snipers there. You earned the Ranger tab while based Stateside, and served as part of an Army Ranger liaison team with the Marines in Lebanon in 1982. You jumped with the Rangers and Airborne troops into Grenada in 1983. I know you just assumed this post, and now your hitch is coming up."

"You know a lot about me, sir," Hauser said with a deadpan expression on his face.

"I know only what your file says, and what your previous commanders have written in this dossier. But what I found in here was quite impressive. I'd like to bend your ear for a moment, Hauser. However, I need you to also be aware that some things I am going to tell you must never leave this room."

"I know the score, sir," Hauser replied.

Abernathy casually flipped through the 201 file, even though he had read it thoroughly before Hauser's arrival. "I am touring a number of bases to find the best available manpower in the Armed Forces, to beef up a small, but highly capable Special Operations unit that has been placed under my command. So far, my enlisted men and women have performed admirably, and now I have been tasked to expand the unit."

"I understand, sir."

"My team is unlike any traditional special forces unit that you've worked with," Abernathy continued, "and it is tasked only with the highest of priority missions for national defense. It's a semi-covert counter-terrorist force."

"I just rotated home from the Grenada operation, sir. Wouldn't you be more interested in younger boys fresh out of training and ready to fight?"

"No, Hauser," Abernathy said. "I have to spend time and money training fresh faces. I know people like you are team players already. You have filled your qualifications jacket with the skills that I need, and you have lots of time in the shit. My team takes care of its own individual training and working as a group. It is certainly a challenging position, whether serving as a member of the team, or as part of my leadership cadre."

"Am I on some sort of short list, sir?" Hauser asked.

"Sort of. You do come highly recommended."

"Can I think about it, sir?"

"You can," Abernathy said, "but you can't talk about my team to anyone. We're a black, self-contained, classified op as far as the rest of the Army is concerned."

"Understood, sir."

"Sergeant Hauser, I would be lying if I told you that you're not at the head of my short list. However, I do need to know something. Were you going to stay on in the Army when your hitch is up? Perhaps the illustrious Major in the other room was about to sell you on attending OCS again? How many times have you refused the offer? Is it four now?"

"Five, sir. They tried twice in Vietnam, to convince me to take a battlefield commission and attend OCS after my DEROS date."

"Care to explain why a promising leader such as yourself would choose not to take OCS?"

"No offense, sir, but living the life of a butter bar isn't my style. I don't feel like I can be an effective leader once I go into the world of the officers. I'm a grunt. You point me at my target and give me my orders. I find a way to make it work, and try to bring my boys home alive. I don't have to kowtow, or get into the politics of officership to do it."

"No offense taken, soldier. Thank you for your honesty." The colonel stood up and offered Hauser a second handshake. "I was in the neighborhood shopping for talented officers or NCO's willing to become officers. Thank you for your time."

Hauser accepted Colonel Abernathy's hand and shook it. "Thank you, sir. I hope that you find a talented NCO cadre to keep your talented officers alive, sir."

Colonel Abernathy felt at that very moment that he couldn't just let Hauser go because he didn't want to be an officer. "How would you like to be at the head of that cadre, soldier?"

"My record speaks for itself, Colonel. If you want me, you can cut me orders to report to your new base of operations. I follow my orders, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a trainee battalion to attend to. May I take my leave, sir?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant, go ahead." After Hauser shut the office door behind him, Colonel Abernathy withdrew a Department of the Army personnel requisition form and immediately began drafting a transfer order.

"Welcome to the G. I. Joe Team, Master Sergeant Conrad "Duke" Hauser," Abernathy said under his breath, when he signed the DA form.